Eve nodded again. “What’s the story?”
“Well.” Bernard squinted. “I can’t attest that it’s definitely the real thing, you understand, although the prospectus is quite—” he shuddered and finally removed his hand—“convincing. Ah, I will need to invoice you for expenses incurred, by the way.” She nodded encouragement. “They included a fragment of a book cover allegedly containing human DNA, as evidence of anthropodermic bibliopegy. There was also a scan of a single sheet that quite made my eyes water, even though their laser printer crashed a quarter of the way down the page. Ah-hem. Anyway. The prospectus and sample, along with bidding instructions, are in my bank deposit box—I couldn’t sleep with that thing in the house—and if you give me a ceiling I’ll submit a sealed bid. The seller wants ten percent, non-refundable, in advance to cover auction expenses, and the rest held in escrow—they’re retaining one law firm to disburse funds and another to receive bids, both offshore, it’s all a bit complicated. The winning bidder will receive instructions to retrieve the manuscript from secure storage. So, ah, how much is it worth to Rupert? And you?”
Eve stared at him for a minute as she pulled her scattered thoughts together. Thoughts like, Another goddamn cursed magic tome, really? And, Sealed bids? We definitely have competitors? And, Is this a come-on? She swallowed. “I’m not the purchaser you need to satisfy,” she finally told him. “Are there any other concordances of this … this book?”
“Not that I know of.” Bernard paused. “There is a rumor.”
“A rumor.”
“The Bod’s copy. Right before Number Ten grabbed it, some civil service bunch got their greasy paws on it. Something to do with training a deep learning neural network to recognize the script in AW-312.4 and generate a concordance automatically.”
“And did it?”
Bernard kept a poker face. “Rumor has it they discovered six ways—hitherto unknown to computer science—to drive a neural network insane.”
“So.” She leaned forward again, deliberately giving him an eyeful. “Let me get back to you with Rupert’s bid?” She smiled. “You won’t be talking about this to anybody, will you?”
Bernard swallowed. “Of course not, my dear.”
“That’s sweet of you.” She rose. “If you should happen to overhear the names of any rival bidders I’m sure you could find a way to let me know?”
“Absolutely! But the vendor is being very secretive. Between you and me, I think they’re probably afraid of the Russian element.” Followers of Chernobog, or worse. He stood hastily. “My commission—”
“Will be the usual.” She smiled: “But if you hear any names, there might be a bonus in it.” Bernard’s usual was 3 percent plus expenses, but 3 percent of upwards of ten million was nothing to sneeze at. “And ten percent plus a half million bonus if you can identify the seller before it goes to auction. I’m eager to make them an offer to preempt.”
“Jolly good then, I’ll get digging right away—”
“I’m sure you will! And Bernard? One more thing?”
“Yes?”
“Really don’t tell anyone else about this; it wouldn’t do for the wrong people to get the idea that they could get a leg up by gazumping Rupert in an auction. Rupert finds that sort of thing intensely irritating.” Rupert’s preferred treatment for irritants was an unmarked grave. “And he can be very possessive.”
“I’m sure—” Bernard’s face flushed as he got the message: good, so he knows about Rupe’s temper—“that won’t be a problem!”
“Of course not,” Eve said graciously as she let herself out. “Be seeing you!”
“This is nuts,” Doc said when he caught up with Game Boy, in lieu of telling him off—he was still in a fragile state, Doc guessed. “A library?”
“Wouldn’t you want one in your house if you could have one?” Game Boy enthused.
“I don’t see what’s so special about a load of old books,” said Del, blowing a plume of dust off a tome as fat as an old-timey computer manual. The book was bound in green cloth, the spine bleached by sunlight. She flipped it open and recited the title: “A Boy’s Compendium of Lore and Legend: Valiant Legends from before the British Empire. Yeah, right.” She dropped it on the floor: Game Boy winced but didn’t bend to pick it up.
“Some of these are probably worth something secondhand,” said Imp, his eyes alight with avarice. He’d heard stories about places like this in his infancy, fairy tales Dad told him at bedtime, but he could hardly credit the reality of it. Mind scrabbling for traction, he latched onto its most mundane utility first.
“Good luck figuring out which,” Doc opined dourly. “Have you checked your phone signal?”
Imp squinted at his phone. “You got no signal either? That sucks.”
“There’s no signal anywhere once you get past the steps at the end of the first corridor,” Game Boy volunteered. “I tried to Instagram it, but…” He shrugged adorably and Doc had to fight the impulse to pick him up and carry him to safety, away
